


the act of falling

by vityenka



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Anal Sex, Coach Katsuki Yuuri, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, POV Victor Nikiforov, Pining Victor Nikiforov, Supportive Katsuki Yuuri, Switching, Vicchan Lives, makkachin is named yuukachin bc viktor is a yuuri fanboy, no beta we die like men, they're in love, yuuri coaches viktor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25936948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vityenka/pseuds/vityenka
Summary: Growing up, Viktor Nikiforov idolizes Katsuki Yuuri's skating. He's beautiful, everything Viktor wants to be. When Viktor places last in the Grand Prix Final, a fateful night at a banquet sets their love in motion. Yuuri moves to St. Petersburg to coach Viktor, and the rest is history.A Role Reversal!Viktuuri where Yuuri is a five-time world champion and Viktor falls in love with him.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 32
Kudos: 221





	the act of falling

**Author's Note:**

> wow! i've been working on this fic for a really long time. i love role reversal au's and i was really inspired by narooto's (narootos.tumblr.com/tagged/reverse+au) reverse au several years ago! i've been wanting to write this, so i finally sat down and did. i also chose to rename makkachin to yuukachin, although i love makka so so much. i also think their art is gorgeous and i love their viktor! 
> 
> anyway, i hope you all enjoy!

When Viktor Nikiforov was twelve, he watched the Junior World Championships in Sofia, Bulgaria, on the staticky TV sitting in the lobby of the Sports Palace. There’s a skater, Katsuki Yuuri of Japan, with delicate wrists and spins that make Viktor’s chest ache, and he can’t take his eyes away from the screen. Katsuki’s dark hair is flowing down his back in a high-ponytail. When he’s almost nose-to-nose, Georgi scoffs at him and pulls him back into his seat. On the television, Katsuki Yuuri is skating to  _ Phantom of the Opera _ , his white shirt billowing along his torso as he arches into an Ina Bauer. His spine curves, creating a shape Viktor will attempt to replicate for years. When the music comes to an end, Katsuki folds himself into the Phantom character, hand covering half his face and arm wrapped around himself. Viktor stutters out a breath, knuckles white where he clutches the bench. 

“When is Evgeni skating? I want to see  _ that, _ ” Georgi snarks. His arms are folded across his chest, though the wide-eyed look he’s giving Katsuki is telling. Katsuki’s scores are announced, and both their mouths drop open. It’s a Juniors world record. 

“Wow,” Viktor breathes. His short hair falls across his face as he leans in close to read the score over and over. It flashes on the television, and Katsuki’s glasses are placed on his nose. He reads them, and the camera shows his expression morph into one of pure joy. He hugs his coach, Celestino Cialdini, and Viktor whispers, “I’m going to compete against him some day.” 

When Viktor walks home with Yakov, he gushes the whole way about Katsuki Yuuri, Junior World Champion of Japan and his Phantom of the Opera short program. “Do you think I could ever be that good, Yakov?” Viktor wonders, chewing on a piece of his hair. 

“Stop that, Vitya.” Yakov tugs the strand out of his mouth and it sticks to his cheek. “If you work hard, you can compete at that level. That’s  _ if  _ you work hard, you understand?” Viktor nods rapidly.

“Of course! I’m going to be the best figure skater there is, and then I’ll meet Katsuki Yuuri and he’ll compliment my skating!” His eyes are bright, full of wonder and he clutches at his lunch box. Yakov says nothing, but he places a firm hand on Viktor’s shoulder and steers him into a nearby convenience store that sells skating magazines. When he finds what he’s looking for, he purchases it and hides it from Viktor until they get back to the house. Once inside, he hands Viktor the paper bag and watches the boy slide the magazine out. On the cover is a photograph of Katsuki Yuuri mid-Ina Bauer, neck arched and arms outstretched. Viktor gasps and clutches it to his chest. “Yakov,” he breathes. “Thank you.” 

Yakov pats Viktor’s head. “Work hard and you will meet your goals. Now go finish your schoolwork.” Yakov has not quite learned yet how to handle a child, because Viktor spends the next hour devouring the interview portion of the magazine, and cutting and pasting the pictures of Yuuri to his wall. He learns Yuuri has a dog named Vicchan, a toy poodle with curly brown fur and Viktor  _ wants _ so badly to be just like him. 

Dinner, a typically quiet affair, features Lilia and Yakov despairing over Viktor’s newfound obsession. “You cannot get a dog,” Yakov says firmly, eyes narrow. Lilia sighs and spears a piece of salmon. 

“How about this,” she starts, casting a look at her husband. “You come to ballet practice and work  _ seriously  _ for three months, and then we will talk.” Viktor stares at her for a moment, all big blue eyes, before breaking out into a wide grin.

“I won’t let you down, Lilia!” 

Yakov groans.

———————

When Viktor brings Yuukachin home, his hair is almost shoulder length now. Yakov and Lilia have given up on trying to force him to cut it, since he cries at every suggestion. Yuukachin is a terror, wrecking havoc across the house. To Viktor’s credit, he tries his best to train her, though it takes a while before she settles down. He brings her to the rink one day, and Georgi and Mila coo and pet at her while Viktor cuddles the puppy to his chest. 

Mila gasps, “She’s so cute, Vitya! What’s her name?” 

“Yuukachin,” Viktor mumbles, blushing. 

“Wow,” Mila giggles, “After Yuuri, right? You really like Yuuri?” Viktor nods and buries his face in Yuuka’s fur, grinning to himself. “I hope I can see you skate with him one day.” 

Viktor looks up at that, peering over Yuuka’s curls as he stares wide-eyed at Mila. “I hope so, too,” he gasps. Georgi says nothing, but he reaches out and pets Yuuka, anyway. 

———————

Regional Championships are a nightmare and Viktor cries his whole way through, clinging to Yakov when he flubs his double axel, sobbing in Lilia’s arms when he barely makes it past fifth place, and spends his night on the couch eating ice cream and weeping over romantic comedies. Yuukachin curls up next to him, significantly bigger now that Viktor’s had her for almost a year. He meant to get a toy poodle like Yuuri’s dog, but Yuukachin is perfect the way she is, and Viktor has always liked big dogs, anyway. He buries his hands in her soft fur and falls asleep on the sofa, credits flashing across the screen. Yakov turns it off after a while and carries Viktor to his room, Yuukachin following close behind. 

Viktor opens his eyes the barest amount, squinting up at Yakov in the dark of his bedroom. “Vitya,” Yakov murmurs, uncharacteristically soft, “This is one of many competitions. You have much more to give.” He brushes Viktor’s messy bangs off his face. “Do not give up. Katsuki wouldn’t, would he?” Viktor shakes his head, lip trembling. Yakov nods at him and stands. “Good. Tomorrow, we will train.” 

———————

When Viktor is sixteen, his room is plastered wall-to-wall in Katsuki Yuuri. He even has a fan-produced dakimakura featuring Yuuri’s costume made of glittering crystals and black straps across his chest from last season. Viktor lies awake at night and stares at the dakimakura, at the posters decorating the walls, the framed one on his desk, and whispers, “Please, let me meet him as equals. Let me show him what I can do.” He screws his eyes shut and murmurs the prayer over and over, twisting his hands in his duvet as the raised voices of Yakov and Lilia echo from downstairs. 

Last week, his mother called to wish him a happy birthday. The voicemail sat for days in the inbox, until Yakov forced him to call her back to thank her. The conversation was stilted, unfamiliar, and Viktor hung up with the sense of speaking to a stranger. He had cried into Yuukachin’s fur, clutching the dakimakura as close as his poodle, tears tracking down his face. That night, the fighting had stopped for a bit, and Yakov and Lilia baked him a chocolate cake. 

———————

The week Viktor turns eighteen, Yuuri cuts his hair. It’s debuted at Japanese Nationals, Viktor streaming the competition from his laptop in the break room at Yubileyny. Yakov has given him an hour to watch Yuuri skate, barking at him to be back on the ice as soon as Katsuki has finished. Viktor’s hair is tied up in a messy bun and he sits, one leg tucked up to his chest, chin resting on it, and eyes bright as Yuuri takes the ice. He’s gorgeous, in a deep blue ombre, black pants, short hair slicked back. He looks ethereal, and Viktor’s breath is caught in his throat.  _ He cut his hair,  _ his brain moans. But it looks  _ good.  _ Viktor mourns for a moment, until he realizes his cheeks are flushed from how handsome Katsuki Yuuri is. His shoulders have filled out; he looks like he could easily lift Viktor. 

“Oh,” Viktor swallows hard as Yuuri settles into his opening position. The entire short program is a test of Viktor’s sexuality. If he hadn’t known he was gay before, he does  _ now.  _ Viktor meanders his way through the halls of Yubileyny after Yuuri wins the short program, stumbling through his step sequences as he thinks about the curl of stray hair across Yuuri’s forehead. Yakov screeches at him until his face is purple. 

Russian Nationals are in two days. When he takes the ice, he’s there to win. 

———————

He does win. It’s Viktor’s first year in the Senior circuit and he has a gold to prove it. His limbs are lanky and he feels uncoordinated still from his previous growth spurt, but the stride he’s hit could take him as far as the moon if he has any say. 

But he doesn’t, and his season ends early with a knee injury. One that has him sobbing in bed for entire days, crying his way through physical therapy, and when Yakov and Lilia fight below him, he has no one to turn to but Yuukachin and Yuuri. Yuuri, who will never know his name, who will never turn and say, “You’re Viktor Nikiforov right? I loved your program,” and then offer him dinner, or kiss him. Yuuri who is the World Champion. 

Viktor, with a busted knee. 

———————

When Viktor is twenty-three, Katsuki Yuuri is the four-time reigning World Champion. Four-time reigning Grand Prix Final gold-medalist, six-time Japanese National Champion, two-time Olympic Champion Japan’s Ace. Viktor wonders if it’s lonely at the top, but then tells himself that Yuuri must have many friends, that he’s never lonely. Bitterly, he thinks Yuuri must take a lover every night. People look at Viktor, and they see desperation. A pathetic Russian boy with a crush on his long-time idol who will never make it to the top.

———————

Skate America is taking place in Detroit, scant miles from where Yuuri trains each day. Viktor sneaks out of his hotel room and follows google maps until he reaches the darkened rink. It’s late, but Viktor just wants a glimpse. Here is where Katsuki Yuuri, the world’s top figure skater, trains.

“Hello,” comes a voice from behind Viktor. Standing in the street light is Phichit Chulanont, fellow competitor and Katsuki Yuuri’s best friend. Two time World silver-medalist, Thailand’s Hero, Olympian. And he’s looking at Viktor with a perfect eyebrow raised. “Are you lost?” Phichit’s face is kind, but Viktor’s heart twists.  _ He doesn’t know me?  _ Chulanont will be skating at the Trophee de France with Viktor. 

“No,” Viktor says, defensive. “I was just…” 

“I know who you are, Nikiforov,” Phichit laughs, bright and clear. “Do you wanna come in?”

Glancing up at the sign  _ Detroit Skating Club,  _ Viktor can’t help but feel inadequate. “I…” he glances down at the phone in his hands. “I was actually—”

Phichit studies him. “You know,” he says, “Company might be nice.” Viktor bites his lip. 

“Okay.” 

When Viktor wins his first Grand Prix event, Skate America, he curls his fist around the medal and weeps, chest tight.  _ He might see me,  _ he whispers to himself in the dead of night, when his feet bleed and bruises litter his body. 

Katsuki Yuuri landed the first quad flip in competition when he was twenty-one. Viktor has never landed it, and yet his body aches with the need to do so. To prove to Yuuri that he can be a proper competitor, someone to look at.  _ I want him to look at me,  _ he tells him as he shakes apart into his own fist.  _ I never want him to look away.  _

———————

Trophee de France lands him with a silver medal and a ticket to the Grand Prix Final. Phichit Chulanont claps him on the back on the podium, gold medal strung around his neck. Georgi wears his bronze medal proudly, even if it didn’t get him to the Final. Viktor smiles over at him, though, happy to be on the podium with his friend. Phichit draws them into selfies, clasping Viktor’s shoulder and congratulating him and Georgi. 

“I’ll see you at the Final, Viktor!” Phichit calls, waving to him as they part ways. On the plane ride home, he stares out the window at the passing landscapes, the vast blankness of it all. In a month, he’ll be in Sochi. In a month, he’ll be skating against Katsuki Yuuri. 

———————

Viktor swallows back bile as it creeps closer and closer to his turn in the short program. Yakov has a hand on his shoulder. “I don't know if I can do this,” Viktor whimpers. 

“You  _ can _ ,” Yakov says firmly. 

———————

At twenty-three, Viktor Nikiforov sits in sixth place after his first Grand Prix Final. Katsuki Yuuri, Japan’s Ace, is the now five-time reigning Grand Prix Final gold-medalist, with four World Championship gold-medals, two Olympic golds, and six-time Japanese National Champion. Viktor has never felt worse. 

There was a moment in time where he dreamed of meeting Yuuri on the ice, of standing on the podium with Yuuri looking up at him and saying, “You did great out there,” in that soft way he has of speaking. Instead, Viktor strips off his costume, damp with sweat, and stuffs it unceremoniously into his duffle. His skates rest on top, silver blades gleaming. His team Russia jacket feels ill-fitting on his body, and he wonders when the FFKKR will ask for it back. Yuukachin is back home with Helena, far, far away from Viktor. She’s alive, but Viktor is still in Sochi, not St. Petersburg. He suddenly needs to be talking to Helena, suddenly needs to know exactly how Yuuka is. Viktor slams the door behind him in the bathroom and sinks down onto the toilet seat. His hands shake, eyes wet and blurry, and he can’t see what’s in front of him for shit. He clutches his phone close to his chest, swallows around the bile making its way up his throat, and calls Helena. 

Helena picks up on the third ring. “Vitya,” she says, in that sharp way of hers. He misses his apartment and Yuuka’s wet kisses. Helena sighs over the line. “She’s going to be alright, you know that, yes?” 

“Yes,” he chokes out. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t--”

“No,” Helena snaps. “Do not apologize. I am happy to help you.” 

Viktor wipes his nose with his jacket sleeve. “Okay,” he whispers. “I’ll pay you back.” 

“I know you didn’t do as well as you wanted,” Helena says, instead. “But that is okay. You are young, there will always be other competitions. Sixth is not the worst it could be, especially after what happened.” 

Viktor says nothing to this. “How’s Yuuka?”

“Recovering. Go see Yakov, he is worried about you.” 

“How do you know?” 

Helena scoffs. “He called me, of course. Now go, be social. It will do you good.” She hangs up at this, and Viktor sits still for a moment. It all rushes in, the phone call about Yuukachin, the fear and anger, at himself. Yakov’s comforting hand on his shoulder, which is so unlike him. Suddenly he can’t stop the tears. He  _ failed, i _ n front of his  _ idol.  _ Katsuki Yuuri won his fifth Grand Prix Final, and Viktor couldn’t even make it close to the podium. His dog got hurt, and he couldn’t even bring himself to skate well enough for her. 

The bathroom door bangs open as Viktor hiccups into his hands. Someone slams on the door. “Hey!” snaps Yuri Plisetsky, his cheetah print sneakers squeaking on the tile. “Asshole, Yakov’s looking for you!” He bangs on the door again, until Viktor finally stands up and opens it. 

“What, Yura?” He snaps. He looks up into the mirror and sees himself. His hair is a mess, eyes rimmed red and puffy, and jacket wrinkled.  _ God,  _ Viktor thinks,  _ I can’t even look presentable.  _

Yuri scrunches his nose. It would be cute, if Viktor didn’t want to strangle him right now. “Yakov is looking for you,” he snarls. “Stop fucking crying. It’s embarrassing.” 

“Yuuka got hurt.” Yuri blinks at him, his face softening slightly. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, finally. “Just, go see Yakov, okay?” 

“Yeah,” Viktor replies. He moves over to the sink and splashes water across his face, shoulders hunched. 

“Is she okay?” Viktor nods. 

“She will be.” 

“Good,” Yuri mutters. “See you out there.” He casts one last look at Viktor before stalking out, leaving the door to slam behind him and Viktor, hunched over the sink. 

———————

“Viktor!” calls a familiar voice. Yakov and he stop as Alana Petrova, a reporter, runs up, waving. “I just wanted to say,” she pants, “that you shouldn’t give up. Everyone has bad days, and you have more competitions ahead of you! Russia is rooting for you!”

Viktor flushes. His head is pounding and he’s exhausted and really, this isn’t helping. “I-“

“Yuuri,” says a cheerful, booming voice. Viktor whips around to see his idol Katsuki Yuuri and coach Celestino Cialdini stride past. Celestino appears to be discussing something with Yuuri, as their heads are bent together. Suddenly, Yuuri looks up and catches Viktor’s eye. His smile is soft around the edges, and Viktor’s ears burn red. 

“Commemorative photo?” Yuuri asks. His voice is tired, but kind. Viktor didn’t  _ want  _ this. He wanted to meet Yuuri on the podium, as equals, not as the boy who couldn’t even get within a hundred points of him. Viktor swallows his shame and turns his back on his idol. The automatic doors open onto Sochi and he walks away. 

———————

Everything after the banquet is a blur. Viktor wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache, a flight to catch, and Yakov banging on his door. Yakov sleeps the whole way, which Viktor is relieved for. He doesn’t want to talk about next steps. He just wants to see his dog. 

Helena is sitting in his apartment when he arrives, steaming cup of tea between her hands and Yuukachin snoozing on her doggie bed. “Vitya,” she greets. “How was your flight?” Viktor ignores the question and flings himself at her, hugging her tightly. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. She pats his shoulder. 

“Of course, Vitya. Go greet your dog.” Viktor turns and kneels by Yuukachin’s bed, where she lifts her head lazily. 

“Hey, darling,” he murmurs. She licks his hand, panting happily. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” He lays down next to the bed and wraps an arm around her gently. “How long did they say her recovery would be?” Yuuka’s leg is wrapped in bandages and shaved down. 

“A month, likely.” Helena sighs. “She’s alive, Vitya, but they don’t know how her leg is going to hold up. They’ll discuss your options if it doesn’t get better.” Viktor nods and presses a kiss to Yuuka’s head. She kisses his cheek, and he drops his head onto her bed. Yuuka lays her head beside his. Viktor distantly hears the door shutting, before he falls asleep. 

———————

Months pass after Sochi. Viktor does terribly at Nationals and Yakov doesn’t bother reassuring him about Worlds. It won’t happen. He knows this, but it still hurts. He thinks about his old knee injury and wonders if he should have stopped there, if it’s been worth it  _ at all  _ to come back. Yuukachin snoozes against his thigh as he stares out the large window that made him rent this apartment. It looks out over the Neva, lights sparkling along the river and people walking down below. Yuuka likes the dog park nearby, but he’s been avoiding it since her injury. Her leg is healing well, though it’s still stiff. The dog fight was terrifying, hearing about it from miles and miles away. If he had given up on skating, maybe it wouldn’t have happened. 

Regardless, he goes to the rink. His season is over, but Yakov insists on continuing to train, despite his lingering thoughts on retirement. Georgi and Mila are working on their own programs. Mila’s is lovely, a blend of fierce and tender. It’s perfect for her, reminds him of her concern as he struggled with Yuuka’s recovery, guilt, and failure. Georgi’s is dramatic, and Viktor tends not to pay too much attention when Georgi is despairing over his latest girlfriend. 

Viktor has been mapping out new programs in case he decides to continue skating, though they’re all pieces of detached thoughts. He finds himself taking a familiar position, Katsuki Yuuri’s  _ Stay Close to Me.  _ It’s beautiful, lonely and longing. Viktor learned it as practice when Yuuri first unveiled it, finding himself drawn to it. There was a sadness to Yuuri when he skated it, a desperation, a shouting into the void and hopefully hearing someone call back. Viktor wishes Yuuri could hear him. 

The movements are familiar by now, the quad flip downgraded to a triple. Spinning, hair flying from his bun, wrist movement. He spins to a stop, arms folded and panting towards the ceiling. He hears a  _ whoop!  _ and clapping. Mila is standing by the boards, phone pointed towards him and grinning. 

“Vitya!” she calls, “That was beautiful! Do you mind if I upload it?” 

Viktor shrugs. “Go ahead,” he smiles, but it’s more like a grimace. Maybe it could be a goodbye. 

———————

What he doesn’t expect is the notification he gets on his phone several days later. The snow is starting to melt, dripping and reflecting the sunshine. Yuukachin pants happily, tail wagging at a stick as she stalks it in the wet grass. Viktor is sitting on the bench when his phone dings. 

_ katsukiy  _ has started following you!

“What.” Viktor blinks rapidly. He brings his phone closer to his face, clicks the profile. The blue check mark is there, and Yuuri’s face, intent, stares up at him. There are videos upon pictures upon more videos along his feed, advertisements with Mizuno, photos of his dog. Viktor can’t believe it. He nearly drops it in a leftover pile of snow at the next notification. 

_ katsukiy  _ has sent you a message! 

Viktor scrambles to open it, ignoring Yuuka’s boofing as she prances around with her stick. 

_ katsukiy:  _ Hi Viktor! I hope this isn’t intrusive, but I wanted to reach out after Sochi. Your video inspired me, and I’d like to come to St. Petersburg to discuss coaching with you, if that’s still something you’d be interested in. Thanks! Can’t wait to hear from you. - Yuuri

“Coaching?” Viktor whispers. He looks up at Yuuka, her big brown eyes staring up at him. He takes the stick from her and tosses it to give himself and her something to do, before he looks back down at the message. His phone begins dinging, over and over as more notifications pour in. His follower count begins rising, Yuuri’s fans flooding his profile. Texts from Chris, Mila, even Phichit, pour in. 

_ Assman Giacomeontheice _ : viktor??? Wtf is that video??? 

_ Mila! _ : your vid may have gone viral???? Sorry!!!!!!

_ Phichit Chulanont _ : WOW!!!!

_ yura _ : what the FUCK

Another notification from Instagram, from Yuuri. 

_ katsukiy:  _ I really hope you’re actually okay with me coming. This would be really bad otherwise. 

Viktor’s phone is ringing before he can get a handle on what’s happening. Yakov’s face pops up and he hurries to answer it. 

“VIKTOR LEONIDOVICH NIKIFOROV WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?” Yakov booms from the other end. Viktor pictures his face purpling and ballooning, carrying him to the dog park where Viktor is sitting in stunned disbelief to murder him. 

“I don’t know,” he replies. He hears Yakov suck in an angry breath and hangs up. 

_ vnikiforov:  _ where are you?

_ katsukiy:  _ Pulkovo

_ vnikiforov;  _ here’s my address. 

_ katsukiy:  _ See you soon, then.

———————

Viktor wants to wander for the rest of the day, get his head on straight, but Katsuki Yuuri is about to show up at his apartment and he has no food. There’s also takeout boxes on the counters. He speeds to the grocery store, tying Yuuka up outside, then back to his apartment with her running along beside him. Being a dog must be nice, Viktor thinks. She has no idea the turmoil he’s currently dealing with. It’s been forty minutes since his short conversation with Yuuri, so he speed cleans the apartment. By the time the door buzzes, he’s dripping sweat. 

“Oh,” Viktor gasps. He runs into his room and struggles into an acceptable outfit, soft sweater with leggings. He ties his hair up and runs to the door, flinging it open. 

Katsuki Yuuri is fucking beautiful. He’s all flawless golden brown skin, lovely deep amber eyes, full lips. Strong muscles that could pick Viktor up and throw him against the wall, Viktor’s monkey brain offers. He’s all quiet power dressed in a comfortable blue sweater and dark jeans, glasses perched on his lovely nose. He has a toy poodle with him.

Viktor wants to  _ die.  _ He looks like a  _ mess.  _

“Hi,” Yuuri says. He waves awkwardly and Viktor’s face flames red. He steps back to allow Yuuri in. Yuukachin chooses that moment to bumrush the new human, knocking Five Time World Champion, Olympic Gold Medalist Katsuki Yuuri to the fucking  _ floor.  _ Five Time World Champion, Olympic Gold Medalist Katsuki Yuuri’s dog starts yipping and running in circles around Yuuka and Yuuri. 

“Oh my  _ god, Yuuka!”  _ Viktor drags his backstabbing poodle off his idol. “I’m  _ so sorry!”  _ Yuuri laughs, sitting up and wiping his glasses. 

“It’s fine,” he soothes. His voice is so  _ nice.  _ “I love dogs.” He holds his perfect, strong arms out to Yuukachin, who dives right into them to wiggle and cuddle the man of Viktor’s dreams. He’s jealous of his  _ dog.  _ Viktor just watches, completely charmed and dumbstruck over how this is his life. Maybe he cracked his head open at the rink and he’s actually dead. Yuuri looks up at him, and Viktor pinches himself. “Thank you for letting me stay.” 

“Of...of course!” Viktor fiddles with the bottom of his sweater. “I just...what are you  _ doing here?”  _ Yuuri looks at him and tilts his head, confused. 

“I’m here to be your coach, Viktor.” 

———————

Viktor is slumped over the kitchen island, staring at Yuuri’s curled up form on his sofa. Yuukachin and Vicchan are flopped over on top of him, snoring away. What the fuck is happening? There’s an empty cup of tea on the coffee table, on one of the coasters Viktor rarely remembers to use. Yuuri had giggled at the little birds depicted on the coasters, then placed his cup on top, careful not to cover the head. Viktor is so charmed by him, it’s ridiculous. 

The sky outside is fading to orange and he picks himself up off the countertop. He might as well start making dinner, if he’s going to be housing his idol for the next however long Katsuki Yuuri is going to be in his life. How the hell is he supposed to do this? Yakov is his coach, but Yakov is also unsure of how to help Viktor now. He’s offered to set Viktor up with the rink’s psychologist, but honestly, Viktor would rather die than talk to a stranger who knows all his rinkmates about why he’s feeling the way he is. Skating feels like a chore, and Viktor doesn’t know how to tell Yakov this, let alone a psychologist, and now  _ Katsuki Yuuri.  _

Viktor shakes a cup of dog food into Yuuka’s bowl after washing it out, along with some pumpkin. He hesitates, then does the same for Vicchan. Yuukachin lifts her fuzzy head off Yuuri’s arm and bounds over to the kitchen, nails clicking along the floor. He should clip them soon. Vicchan follows her loyally and when Viktor points him to the smaller bowl, he starts eating. A soft grumble comes from the living room and Yuuri sits up, blinking sleepily over the cushions at Viktor, who blushes. 

“Hey,” Viktor murmurs. “Are you hungry?” Yuuri nods and rubs a hand across his face, hair sticking up in all directions and glasses skewed. 

“Sorry for falling asleep,” Yuuri smiles sheepishly. He runs a hand through messy black hair and struggles to his feet, bare and bruised. He pads into the kitchen to lean on the counter where Viktor had been despairing moments before. “I’m terrible with jetlag.” 

Viktor hurries to reassure him. “That’s okay!” Yuuri blinks at him, then gives him another grateful smile. “What do you want to eat?” 

“Hm,” Yuuri hums and goes over to the fridge, peering inside. “What’s your diet like?” 

“Oh, um...I know I’m not in the best shape,” Viktor bites his lip. “I’ll work really hard to get my weight back down.” Yuuri tilts his head. 

“Not what I asked,” he points out. “I just want to know what to feed you.” 

“F-feed me?” 

“Can you cook?” Yuuri asks. Viktor nods, then hesitates, then shrugs. 

“Kind of,” he admits. “Not well.” 

“Hm,” Yuuri looks back at the fridge, then pulls several ingredients out. Chicken and vegetables, and gets to work. “You can chop vegetables for me, then.” Viktor nods, and Yuuri instructs him. A comfortable silence settles over them as Viktor chops and dices. Yuuri pulls out spices Viktor forgot he had, and seasons and coats the chicken. By the end, Viktor’s mouth is watering from how good it smells. Yuukachin is sitting by Yuuri’s leg, giving him puppy eyes while drooling on his foot. 

They sit side by side at the island, Viktor careful not to bump Yuuri with his elbows. “So,” Yuuri says after a mouthful of chicken. “Tell me what your goals are for the next season.” 

It didn’t set in before, but it seems to now. “You’re serious,” Viktor breathes. He stares down at the broccoli on his plate. 

“Of course I am,” Yuuri replies. He sets his fork down and makes Viktor look at him. “I’m serious, Viktor, I’m here for real.” 

“It’s...it’s kind of unbelievable,” Viktor admits. Yuuri’s eyes are beautiful, and he has to force himself to look away before he does something weird like kiss Yuuri’s eyeballs.

“Is it?” Yuuri asks. His bangs fall in his face, and he brushes them back. His hair is slightly longer than the last time Viktor saw him on television at Worlds. He has a navy blue hair tie wrapped around one wrist. 

Viktor shrugs and fiddles with his fork. “I was thinking of quitting, actually.” 

“What.” Yuuri’s voice is flat, and Viktor looks back up to see him with an indignant expression. “You can’t quit.” 

“Technically it’s my choice,” Viktor points out. Yuuri just looks angry at that and he backtracks. “Not that I’m going to. Sorry. I guess I just don’t want you to regret giving up your life to come coach me.” 

“Well,” Yuuri hesitates, then, “I was thinking, if you want, we could go to Japan.” 

“Japan?” Viktor blinks rapidly. “Why would we go there?” 

“My childhood friend’s family owns the ice rink there, in my hometown. Hasetsu,” Yuuri adds. “If you think it would help you to have a private rink. I don’t mind staying here though.” 

“What do  _ you  _ want?” Viktor prompts. Yuuri frowns at him. 

  
“I’m your coach, it’s not about me.”

“I don’t understand,” Viktor finally admits. “I don’t understand why you want to coach me. You’re a five-time Grand Prix Final and World champion. You have two Olympic gold medals. I’m just Viktor from Russia, who only has a few international golds. I’m _ no one. _ ” 

“You’re Russia’s top figure skater,” Yuuri says, uncomprehending. “What the hell do you mean you’re ‘no one?’” His voice has risen slightly, taking on a frustrated edge. “I’ve watched every video of you I could find. You’re  _ beautiful.  _ You asked-- _ ”  _

“Please stop,” Viktor begs. “I get it.” 

“Do you?” Yuuri snaps. “Because it sounds to me like you have no idea how  _ amazing  _ you are. I’m here to coach you because I believe in you, Viktor.” 

“Oh,” Viktor breathes. Yuuri’s eyes are narrowed, determined. He looks like he  _ believes  _ what he says, with everything he has. Viktor loves Yakov, but Yakov has never looked like  _ this _ . Like Viktor’s career is almost as important as Yuuri’s own. “You really do.” 

“Yes,” Yuuri says. “I do.” 

They finish dinner in silence, and as they clean up, Yuuri’s elbow brushes Viktor’s own. “I’m sorry for snapping,” he sighs. “I shouldn’t have done that.” 

“No,” Viktor shakes his head. “I needed to hear it.” He places a dish on the drying rack and watches a lone drop of water run down the blue surface. “I was so close to quitting. That video that Mila posted, I think a week later and I might have announced my retirement.” Yuuri sucks in a breath beside him. Viktor continues, “I always wanted to skate on the same ice as you, Yuuri. I think I also wanted to medal or beat you, too, but that was too lofty a goal. I skated on the same ice as you and I  _ failed.  _ And then, my next opportunity to get there again, I failed, too.” 

He looks over at Yuuri, who has been quiet the whole time. His eyes are shining, watery amber bright in the half light of the kitchen. “I’m glad you didn’t quit,” Yuuri murmurs, finally. 

Viktor, wrong-footed and choked up, smiles, “Me, too.” 

———————

The next few days are brutal. Though Yuuri himself wakes up with all the kindness of a bear, he runs Viktor ragged early in the morning. The sun is barely over the horizon by the time they’re back at the apartment, taking turns in the shower and downing water and breakfast before they walk to the rink. Yuuri has his headphones in half the time, listening to some music that he whispers along to and writes in his little leather bound notebook about. Viktor tries to peek over his shoulder but only sees unfamiliar Japanese when he catches anything at all, what with Yuuri slamming it shut and sending him back out onto the ice or to the workout room. 

The Russian skaters have taken quickly to Yuuri, spreading gossip and bugging him when he’s busy. Yakov and him have quiet conversations, occasionally glancing out at Viktor together. Yakov, thankfully, seems to have no hard feelings about this new arrangement. He’s all too happy to hand Viktor off to a handsome, legendary coach. They still have dinner together once every few weeks at Yakov’s apartment. Yuri Plisetsky also becomes attached to Yuuri and Vicchan, though he doesn’t show it. 

For Viktor, it’s a problem. Everyone he cares about loves Yuuri, his dog loves Yuuri. Even Helena likes Yuuri, and she doesn’t like anyone. Yuuri likes Viktor, though, and seems to  _ enjoy  _ dealing with him. It’s bad, because Viktor is falling in love with him, and if he doesn’t do something about it soon he might explode. By the end of the first week, Yuuri has secured them private ice time somehow and is skating out to center rink, leaving Viktor with his phone. 

“I have two separate programs that I figured I’d show you,” he explains. “They’re both based on two parts of one piece about love.” Viktor’s heart skips a beat. “On Love: Agape, which is unconditional love, and On Love: Eros. Sexual love.” 

Yuuri shakes his shoulders out and does a few slow turns, before falling into position, a tender smile on his face. He gives Viktor a little signal, and Viktor presses play on Yuuri’s phone. His phone case is poodles, and Viktor loves him for it. 

The music is beautiful, gentle and clear, and Viktor’s chest aches. It’s a difficult program, too. Emotionally and physically, and Viktor wonders if he’ll be able to accomplish something like it. Finally, Yuuri comes to a stop with his hands clasped above his head, breathing hard. 

“Next,” Yuuri says, once Viktor stops the music from repeating, “is On Love: Eros. Watch closely,” he adds, throwing a smirk Viktor’s way. Viktor fumbles and almost drops Yuuri’s phone onto the ice. Yuuri gives him the signal once he’s in position and Viktor starts the music. The guitars immediately ring out, and Yuuri’s hands slide up his body. Viktor swallows around the lump in his throat and leans forward towards the boards. It’s not even been a full minute, and Viktor’s blood is on fire. He clutches the phone tightly in one hand and the barrier in the other, his legs wobbly. Yuuri’s step sequences are legendary, and this one is no different. It’s fast, sensual, and Viktor’s face is so red he might pass out. 

Yuuri ends with his arms wrapped around himself, and as he falls out of the pose Viktor allows the music to repeat. He isn’t paying attention, solely focused on the way Yuuri’s chest rises and falls under his practice shirt. “Viktor?” Yuuri’s voice breaks him out of his fog, and he blinks and looks directly into Yuuri’s eyes, half-lidded and burning. “What did you think?” 

“Th...that one,” he stammers. “I want that one.” 

———————

Mila pours him a full glass of wine and lets him cry on her sofa that night. “He’s so  _ beautiful, _ ” he cries into the glass, before shoving another square of cheese into his mouth. Mila looks on in half pity half amusement, and takes a sip of her own wine. 

“You should just tell him how thirsty you are,” she says. “It’s not like he can’t tell.” 

“NO!” Viktor shouts around his mouthful of cheese. Mila grimaces at him. “Sorry,” he takes another gulp of wine. “I  _ can’t.  _ He’s already doing so much for me. How could I tell him how badly I want to kiss him? Or...or cuddle him? Do you have  _ any  _ idea how gorgeous he is when he wakes up? I would do  _ anything  _ to f--” 

“Okay,” Mila interrupts. “I think you need to stop drinking before you tell all that to him when you’re plastered.” 

“You’re the one who gave me wine,” Viktor grumbles. He downs the rest, then sets his empty glass on the table. “Drive me home?” Mila sighs and hauls herself up. 

“I’m getting you an uber, because I’ve  _ also  _ been drinking.” 

“Thank you, Milusha,” Viktor whimpers. He hugs one of her ridiculously soft pillows to his chest. “I’m going to die of longing, aren’t I?” Mila gives him a look over her phone. 

“If you keep on like this, yes.” 

Viktor stumbles into the apartment fifteen minutes later, wine drunk and desperate for his dog and, inexplicably, pickles. He has those in his fridge, thank god. Yuuri doesn’t like them. He gives Yuuka a pat on the head, before dropping down into a chair with the jar of pickles cradled in his elbow as he drapes himself over the island. He rubs Yuuka’s head while he crunches steadily through his supply. The apartment is quiet, Yuuri probably in the guest room doing something Yuuri-ish. There’s soft music playing, muffled and unintelligible. 

Viktor sighs and looks down at Yuuka and Vicchan. “How do I tell him, Yuusha? Vicchan?” He leans his cheek against the cool marble and whines, loud enough that Yuuka whines back. They take turns like that for a few minutes, Vicchan joining in, until Yuuri finally pokes his head out of his room, messy hair first and skewed glasses. 

“What are you doing?” He questions. 

“Singing,” Viktor responds. “Yuuka has a lovely voice.”

Yuuri screws his face up. “Are you drunk?” 

“Pickle,” Viktor says in lieu of an answer. He waves said pickle in the air and Yuuri rolls his eyes. 

Yuuri sighs. “It’s your rest day tomorrow, so I don’t care.” He pads out of the room and sits next to Viktor, pulling the jar towards him. 

“Hey! You don’t even like those,” Viktor whines. 

Yuuri shrugs and takes one, biting into it and grimacing. “So?” Viktor stares at him. Yuuri hands Viktor the rest of his. “It’s gross.” 

Viktor eats the rest. Then, “Is not.” Yuuri snorts and stands, going to the fridge to grab a bunch of grapes. 

“It’s gross, Vitya,” Yuuri says. They both blink. “Oh, god,” Yuuri stammers. “I’m...I’m sorry--” 

“It’s okay.” Viktor breathes. “Say it again,”

“Vitya,” Yuuri murmurs. 

Viktor grins, blush spreading across his cheeks. “You can always call me that, Yuuri.” 

Yuuri smiles back, shy. “Okay.” 

———————

  
  


Before long, they’re working on Viktor’s free skate. Yuuri’s friend from Detroit, Ketty, is a composer and has Viktor get in touch with her. Together, they produce something that Viktor is proud to say can represent his skating career. It’s melancholy, and triumphant, and all the words Viktor never thought he would apply to himself but that are  _ true.  _

He busts into Yuuri’s room at one in the morning when Ketty sends it, jams his headphones onto Yuuri’s head, and waits. As Yuuri listens, Viktor notices that Yuuri hasn’t slept yet. He’s still wearing a thick sweater and leggings, though Viktor knows he sleeps in a t-shirt and boxers. Viktor watches Yuuri’s face, the surprise and emotion playing across it beautifully. How it shapes his eyes, the set of his mouth, the rise and fall of his eyebrows. He tenses and relaxes with the music, and Viktor is  _ in love  _ with this man. 

“Vitya,” Yuuri breathes as the music slows to a stop. “It’s beautiful.” 

———————

There’s a day at the rink where Yuuri and Viktor skate side-by-side, moving together to work out the kinks in his free skate. It’s mostly done, a blend of everything Viktor is, all the pain and work he’s put in, and the highs and lows of his career. He loves it, truly loves it, and when he finally lands the quadruple salchow that had been giving him trouble, Yuuri gives him a beautiful smile. Secretly, Viktor works on the quad flip. Yuuri has perfected it over the years, and is the only skater who has landed it in competition. Viktor wants to be the next, a thank you, an ‘ _ I love you _ ,’ to Yuuri for all he has done for him. 

The rink is empty before long, Yuuri having left Viktor to cool down to go start dinner at the apartment. Living with Yuuri is easier than Viktor ever dreamed it could be. They move so easily together, a dance in the kitchen to hand one another ingredients, Viktor pushing down on Yuuri’s back to help him into a low stretch. Yuukachin and Vicchan’s walks at night have become their time to unwind together, too. They walk along the river, sharing stories of their younger years. When their fingers brush together, Viktor’s heart nearly beats out of his chest. It’s a beautiful thing, this falling in love, and Viktor stays late at the rink to prove himself to Yuuri. He wants to be worthy of him, of his love, of his time. He wants to tell the world that Yuuri didn’t make a mistake, didn’t come to Russia to coach a failure. He knows it’s dangerous to do this alone, but Viktor can’t bring himself to mind when the silence settles like a blanket over his shoulders. 

Viktor hits the ice over and over again. He’s good at falling, gets up over and over again. When he finally lands it, wobbling precariously along his blade, pride races through him like fire. He lands it again after that, less of a wobble this time. Hand down on the next, but he stays upright. 

It’s progress.

———————

Viktor’s first competition is a regional one in Gatchina. It’s an hour outside St. Petersburg, and they drive down together the day before. Though it’s close by, Yuuri gets them a hotel room, so Viktor doesn’t have to worry about driving back and forth. “You need to rest,” Yuuri explains as they unpack and hang Viktor’s costumes, garment bag and all, in the closet provided. 

Viktor isn’t worried about rest. He’s  _ embarrassed.  _ He hasn’t had to do a regional competition since Juniors, and even then it wasn’t like it was  _ hard.  _ He was always the best one there. Now, he’s terrified. He’s going to be surrounded by young skaters, all vying to overthrow Viktor’s stance as Russia’s best in a few years. It’s awful, the feeling of failure weighing heavy on his shoulders. Yuuri notices, and for all that he hovers, he’s also able to relax Viktor like no one else. 

Viktor doesn’t know anxiety, but he knows the feeling of failure, of depression so consuming he can barely get out of bed. It hits as they settle in for the night, Yuuri calling for room service and sitting on his own bed, pretending not to be watching Viktor. 

“Yuuri,” Viktor croaks from under the covers, where he’s burrowed into their warmth. He hears a soft sound to indicate Yuuri is listening. “You don’t have to tip-toe around me.” 

He hears Yuuri let out a slow breath. “Are you nervous?” Yuuri asks. 

Is he? Viktor supposes he is, since there’s an anvil of fear sitting on his chest. “I guess so,” Viktor admits. It’s quiet for a moment, before Viktor hears a rustling and then bare feet padding across the room. The bed dips and Yuuri settles beside him, resting a gentle hand on Viktor’s shoulder. 

“When I would compete,” Yuuri begins, “I would have terrible anxiety. It got better, but for the first few years I would be vomiting before getting on the ice, or nearly shaking out of my skin from how bad it was. I could barely breathe half the time.” Viktor sits up. He never heard about this,  _ no one  _ had. Yuuri smiles gently at him. His hair is curling from his shower, loose strands falling in his eyes. “Celestino finally got me help. I take medicine for it, but it can still be so bad some days that I can barely function.” 

Viktor swallows. “Why are you telling me this?” Yuuri brushes a hand across Viktor’s brow, folds a strand of Viktor’s hair behind his ear. 

“Because I want you to know that it’s okay to be scared,” Yuuri explains. “I understand the fear.” Viktor looks down at his hands, long, pale hair falling back in his face. “I believe in you, Viktor. I believe in you even if you don’t believe in yourself.” Yuuri’s eyes are so soft, his expression so open and tender that Viktor can hardly breathe for the way Yuuri is looking at him. It offsets the unbearable anxiety that he was feeling moments prior, the way Yuuri knows just what to say to make him feel better. 

Viktor opens his mouth to say something, but a knock comes at the door as their food is delivered. Yuuri smiles at him and goes to retrieve their dinner. The moment is lost, but the warmth Viktor feels sticks around. 

———————

So, he skates a personal best in the short program and bashes his face against the barrier in the free skate. But, it’s the most fun Viktor’s had in a long time, and Yuuri hugs him even when he’s bruised and bloody as he comes off the ice. 

There are several certain things, one of which being that Yuuri’s hugs are the best. The second is that Viktor is going to compete on the Grand Prix circuit. 

———————

Things change when they get back to St. Petersburg. Yuuri touches him more, hand brushing along his arm as they pass one another in the apartment. Yuuri’s gaze trails Viktor as he moves about, heavy and wanting in the way Viktor wants him, too. Viktor doesn’t know why neither of them move on the want, but it feels  _ good  _ to know Yuuri wants him back. 

Their private ice hour is charged with emotions undefinable, but heady all the same. Viktor runs his hands up his body during  _ Eros  _ and Yuuri watches him with a hand under his chin, eyes dark. When he tells Viktor to begin again, it’s with a low, commanding voice that makes Viktor shiver. 

So it goes, until the Cup of China dawns. Yuuri’s hand is on the small of his back as they walk through the airport. Their shoulders brush together when they order coffee, and they sit with their thighs pressed together. Viktor lets Yuuri borrow his noise-cancelling headphones when the noise swells to an unbearable level and his coach’s hands begin to shake. It’s good to be taken care of, and to take care of Yuuri in turn. He sends Helena a thank you text for taking care of Yuuka and the apartment, and leans into Yuuri’s side. Their hands find one another and Yuuri laces their fingers together. He doesn’t look at Viktor, but he doesn’t have to. 

Their plane comes, and they’re off to Beijing. 

———————

Their hotel room overlooks the arena, and Viktor drags Yuuri out the first night to explore the surrounding area. They don’t go far, as Yuuri is exhausted and Viktor has to practice in the morning, but it’s fun. They hold hands the whole time, and Yuuri buys him some street food that really isn’t diet approved, but Yuuri indulges him regardless. They tumble back into the hotel room, full of laughter and warmth, and collapse in the same bed. 

Yuuri smiles at him as their laughter dies down, a soft curve of his lips that Viktor can’t look away from. Yuuri reaches out to brush Viktor’s hair off his face. He cups Viktor’s cheek, and his hand is warm. “Thank you,” Yuuri whispers. 

“For what?” Viktor whispers back. It’s all quiet, and he doesn’t want to fuck up whatever’s happening by being loud. 

Yuuri runs his thumb over Viktor’s cheeks, traces the bone. “For being so wonderful,” he hums. “For...for all the happiness you’ve given me.” Viktor can’t stop blushing and Yuuri makes a soft noise into the space between them. “You’re truly beautiful, Viktor.” 

“Yuuri,” Viktor croaks. Yuuri’s so close, now. Viktor can see each individual eyelash, the deep umber of his eyes. “Kiss me, Yuuri.” 

Yuuri does, the soft press of his lips against Viktor’s is something he’ll remember forever. In this hotel room, in Beijing, with Yuuri holding him close. How could he ever forget the burst of warmth, the slow spread like treacle through his veins, the feeling of Yuuri on top of him, settled between his legs. “Viktor,” Yuuri breathes into his mouth. He tastes like the savory crepes they had earlier, and Viktor dips his tongue in when Yuuri opens up to him. 

“Please,” Viktor begs. “ _ Please.”  _

“Please, what?” Yuuri questions. Questions that Viktor has no answer to, when all he wants is the hot press of Yuuri’s mouth, the drag of his cock against Viktor’s that has him on  _ fire.  _ They’re fully clothed and he’s ready to burst into flames if he doesn’t have Yuuri’s skin against his within the next minute. 

“I...I need…” Viktor can’t speak, can’t do anything but kiss Yuuri until he’s breathless. He grinds their hips together, clenches a fist in Yuuri’s hair. “I need you.” 

  
“You have me,” Yuuri assures. He runs a hand through Viktor’s hair, the long braid falling out of its loose hold. “You have  _ all _ of me.”  _ For how long? _ Viktor wonders, but he doesn’t let it consume him right now. He flips them over, until he’s hovering over Yuuri’s gorgeous body and he can get his hands up under Yuuri’s sweater.

“Off,” Viktor demands, and Yuuri lifts his arms to help him throw the sweater into some corner of the room. “I want you to make love to me,” he declares once Yuuri is back down on the pillow. 

Yuuri swallows a moan. “Vitya, you have to skate tomorrow.” 

“Then…” Viktor bites his lip. “Then can we…” 

“Come here,” Yuuri says. He opens his arms for Viktor, who crawls into them. Together, they divest Viktor of his remaining clothes, along with Yuuri, until they’re lying pressed together naked. “We can...here,” Yuuri adjusts so their cocks are brushing against one another while Viktor mouths at the join between Yuuri’s neck and shoulder. 

Viktor’s leaking heavily already, precum making the slide easy. At the first grind, Viktor has to bury his groan in Yuuri’s skin, teeth worrying at the mark he’s biting into Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri gasps and tangles a hand in Viktor’s hair, making a fist and bringing him up into a bruising kiss. “ _ Yuuri,”  _ Viktor has to pull away for air. He grabs Yuuri’s free hand and laces their fingers, rolls his hips and presses Yuuri back into the mattress. Yuuri’s hips rock up to meet him. The slide is so good, Viktor can barely breathe. 

Yuuri turns them over once more, Viktor’s hair fanning out across the pillows. They grind together, staring at one another with wide, new eyes. Yuuri is beautiful above him, golden skin backlit in the low glow of the hotel room. Viktor has to close his eyes, heat ricocheting down his spine with his impending orgasm. Yuuri’s hips stutter above him, and he forces himself to watch as Yuuri comes with a low groan, Viktor’s name on his lips. Viktor pulls him into a kiss, licking into his mouth as Yuuri shudders and moans. 

The splash of Yuuri’s cum on his belly is what does him in, making him toss his head and arch his back, face screwed up with what has to be the best fucking orgasm of his life, for the sheer reason of that it’s  _ Yuuri.  _ Yuuri reaches between them to stroke him through it, his hands large and warm, milking him for all he’s got. 

By the time Viktor comes down, he’s bone-tired. Yuuri is practically goo on top of him, covering him with his full weight like a blanket. Viktor sucks in a breath and wraps his arms around Yuuri, squeezes his soft waist. Yuuri makes a soft sound and kisses his collarbone, his dark hair tickling Viktor’s nose. 

“Shower,” Yuuri grumbles against his skin. Viktor shivers and nods. 

“Together?” 

Yuuri sits up and looks down at him, smiling softly. “Together.” 

———————

After practice, Viktor ropes Yakov and Georgi into hot pot along with Yuuri, who invites Phichit and Celestino. Phichit invites Chris, Leo, and Guang Hong, and suddenly Viktor is crushed into a booth next to Yuuri, who is wearing a gorgeous green cardigan that Viktor wants to tear off him. Yuuri doesn’t let him drink, but Viktor sneaks a sip of his beer when Yuuri isn’t looking. 

Phichit is telling Yuuri all about his home rink in Bangkok when Celestino pulls Viktor into conversation. “So,” Celestino says as he takes a sip of beer, “how’s Yuuri as a coach?” 

Frankly, Viktor has been terrified of Celestino. His star student moved across the world to coach a nobody from Russia. If Viktor did that, Yakov wouldn’t even speak to him for a year. “He’s great,” Viktor says, loyally. It’s true, too. Yuuri is a fantastic coach. He knows Viktor better than anyone, and he pushes him when he needs to be pushed and pulls back when Viktor needs space. Celestino just nods and hums. 

“I always thought he would be a good coach.” Viktor preens at this, proud of his Yuuri for being so good at everything. Really, he’s proud in a way to be the one that took Yuuri from the world. That swept him away to St. Petersburg for no other reason than skill and beauty, something Viktor has always strived for. To know he ensnared his idol with his skating, and now his body, is something Viktor is proud of. Celestino tilts his head, though. “I wonder how long it will be for,” he murmurs. Something in Viktor freezes, then, as Celestino voices the fear that’s been lurking in the back of his mind since Yuuri showed up on his doorstep and fell asleep on his couch. 

“Vitya,” Yakov butts in, then. “Have you had their vodka?” 

Georgi laughs. “Competitors aren’t drinking right before competition, Yakov.” 

Yuuri rolls his eyes and smiles at Viktor, though something like concern creeps in when he sees the false smile Viktor directs back to him. “What’s wrong?” Yuuri murmurs, leaning closer to him. Viktor swallows and stabs a piece of shrimp. 

“Nothing,” he says. “Don’t worry about me.” 

Yuuri frowns. “It’s my  _ job  _ to worry.” 

“And it’s  _ my  _ job not to worry you, alright?” Viktor hisses back. “Just drop it.” Yuuri draws back a bit, hurt, and Viktor curses himself. “I’m sorry, Yuuri.” 

“It’s alright,” Yuuri says, but he’s still looking worriedly at Viktor. “Will you talk to me when we get back to the room?” Viktor clenches his teeth and nods, which seems to placate Yuuri. He rests a hand on Viktor’s thigh and turns back to Phichit. He leaves his hand there the rest of the night. 

———————

They’re quiet on the walk back, having ditched the others a little early. Phichit has posted a photo of Viktor and Yuuri smiling at each other, captioning it with a heart and a #Viktuuri, which Viktor privately loves and Yuuri openly whines about. 

“So,” Yuuri says. Viktor tenses. “What happened in there?” Viktor stares out into the distance, giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts. Yuuri’s the expert in avoidance, so Viktor knows he won’t stand a chance if he doesn’t say it now. It will also completely eat him up inside, until he can’t do anything more than spit it out at the worst time. “Viktor?” Yuuri prompts. 

“Celestino...he said something,” Viktor murmurs. Yuuri frowns. 

“What?” Yuuri growls. “Was he being an asshole? I’ll tell him off, Vitya.” 

“No, no, Yuuri…” Viktor sighs and looks down at the pavement. “He said something that...that’s been bothering me for awhile.” At this, Yuuri is quiet, but tense beside him. “He asked me how long you would coach me for. And...and I’ve been wondering that, too.” Viktor looks over at Yuuri. “I don’t want to be selfish and keep you away from what you love,” he explains softly. “I couldn’t be so selfish.” 

“Viktor,” Yuuri pulls them to a stop. “What are you talking about?” 

Viktor swallows around the lump forming in his throat and looks everywhere but at Yuuri. “After...after the Grand Prix Final, let’s…” 

“Let’s  _ what? _ ” Yuuri snaps. Viktor blinks at him, surprised. “Let’s end this? Let’s break up? Let’s have me go back to skating and be miserable and alone, instead of with  _ you?  _ As your coach, where I’m happy?” Yuuri breaks away from him to run a frustrated hand through his hair. Light glints off his glasses and his hair looks darker than ever. His face is serious, mouth pulled low in an angry expression. His eyes are bright, sad. “ _ No,  _ Viktor. I can’t do that.” 

“What…?” 

“You might think it’s wrong of you to keep me on as your coach, to ask me to stay, but it  _ isn’t.  _ I want to be here with you! I want to be  _ yours,  _ no one else’s.” Yuuri steps closer again and grabs Viktor’s hands. “Don’t you get it? Before the banquet, I was completely lost. I had won everything there was to win. I haven’t been undefeated in  _ years.  _ It’s  _ exhausting. _ ”

Viktor stares at him, realization dawning that Yuuri  _ does  _ want this, that Yuuri wants  _ him.  _ “I hadn’t been home in five years, Viktor. After the banquet, after  _ you,  _ I went home for the first time. After Worlds, I visited my family again and I...I understood what it was like to live. You did that, Viktor. So no, I don’t want to go back to skating, not if you’re not there. Not if I can’t be by your side the whole time.” 

But…“Banquet?” Viktor asks, confused. “What do you mean after the banquet?” 

Yuuri stares at him. “What do you mean ‘what do I mean?’” 

“I mean,” Viktor says slowly, “what do you  _ mean  _ by after the banquet?” 

“You don’t remember,” Yuuri murmurs, eyes blown wide. “Oh my god,  _ you don’t remember. _ ” 

“What don’t I remember, Yuuri?” Viktor snaps, worried and confused. 

“We danced that night,” Yuuri says. Viktor stares, eyes wide. “At the banquet, we danced. You asked me to be your coach.” 

“What?” Viktor chokes. “Yuuri, I--”   
  


“Don’t tell me you didn’t mean it,” Yuuri gasps, tears filling his eyes. “Please don’t.” 

“No...no, Yuuri--” Viktor reaches for him and Yuuri comes easily, filling his arms in the most perfect way. “Yuuri, I don’t remember but I...I  _ meant  _ it, every word. Whatever I said…” 

“You told me I was the reason you started skating competitively, why you kept with it.” Yuuri shakes against him. “You told me you fell in love with me in Sofia.” 

“I did,” Viktor says. “I did. You...I named my  _ dog  _ after you, Yuuri.” Yuuri laughs wetly and squeezes him tighter. “I love you, Yuuri. I fell in love with your skating in Sofia, but I fell in love with you in Russia.” 

Yuuri lets out a shaky sob and sighs against his chest. “I fell in love with you in Russia, too.” 

———————

Viktor cries until he’s left with nothing, Yuuri staring at him wide-eyed in a deserted bathroom in the arena. 

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri stammers. “I didn’t mean it.” 

“Just...just  _ believe in me.  _ That’s all I need from you,” Viktor hiccups. He wipes at his eyes furiously, shoulders shaking with the effort of holding back loud gasps. Yuuri steps forward and gathers him in his arms, pressing gentle kisses to his temple. 

“I’m not leaving,” Yuuri murmurs. “I’m never leaving, okay?” Viktor nods, clutching at Yuuri’s crisp suit jacket. A wave of calm settles over him. “I believe in you, Viktor,” Yuuri says. “I always have.” 

Viktor believes him. “I’m ready,” he says. Yuuri steps back and takes his hand. 

“Let’s go, then.” 

———————

Viktor takes first in China, falling backwards in Yuuri’s arms onto the ice after the free skate. Yuuri’s lips are still pressed to his when they hit the ice, and Viktor belatedly wonders if Yuuri broke any fingers when he gasps against Viktor’s mouth. Viktor blinks his eyes open, fluorescents shining above and Yuuri’s eyes wet. “I love you,” Yuuri chokes out. “I love you so much, Viktor. You did a  _ quad flip. _ ” 

“I was so mad at you,” Viktor hisses. An official is trying to get them off the ice, but Viktor can’t hear anything besides Yuuri’s wet laugh. “I love you, you _ asshole.”  _

Yuuri buries his face in Viktor’s neck and wheezes with laughter until an official snaps a: “Mr.  _ Katsuki. Get  _ off  _ the ice!”  _

Afterwards, when Viktor is standing above Phichit Chulanont and Christophe Giacometti on the podium, he kisses his gold medal and grins into the flashing lights. 

———————

“Don’t ever tell me you’ll stop being my coach as motivation again, Yuuri,” Viktor says in the hotel room afterwards. They’re standing across from each other, Viktor practically naked and Yuuri still in his unfairly attractive suit. “It’s shitty, and I know you’re bluffing anyway.” 

Yuuri huffs and rubs his neck. “I’m sorry, Vitya.” 

“You’d better be,” Viktor growls. “Now, you should fuck me before I decide to throw you out of here.” 

Yuuri scrambles to comply. 

———————

After the Cup of China, they run along the Neva together with their dogs, hold hands over breakfast and fuck before bed. It’s amazing, it’s everything Viktor has ever wanted. Yuuri holds him and kisses him, but still pushes him right to the edge, past his comfort zone and to new heights. His quad flip is near perfect. 

They sit in the bathtub together, Viktor in front of Yuuri while Yuuri braids his hair. It’s hot, steam rising from the water the way Yuuri likes it. “One day, we’ll go to Japan and visit my hometown. You’ll love the hot springs,” Yuuri promises. 

“Mmmgh,” Viktor grumbles. Yuuri laughs and tugs on Viktor’s hair lightly. 

“Stay awake, Vitya. You can sleep soon.” Viktor gazes sleepily down in the water, at Yuuri’s legs bracketing his, his own bruised feet beside Viktor’s bruised feet. As Yuuri braids, he tells Viktor all about Hasetsu. The ninja castle, the marketplace and the squid his mom likes. As he talks, Viktor nods off, coming to occasionally to listen to the soft lilt of Yuuri’s voice as his talented hands work through Viktor’s hair. “You’ll love katsudon,” Yuuri murmurs, sounding far away. “It’s delicious.” 

Viktor brushes his hand over Yuuri’s calf and squeezes to let him know he’s listening. “I can’t wait.” 

———————

“Viktor,” Yuri Plisetsky grumbles as Viktor drapes himself over him in an elevator in Moscow. “What do you want?” 

“Yura! I just want to see my favorite little brother!” 

“We’re not brothers!” Yura hisses, shoving Viktor off of him, but looking quietly pleased. “Besides, I’m going to  _ kick your ass  _ tomorrow.” 

“Do you want dinner?” Viktor offers instead of replying. 

“If you’re paying,” Yuri growls. 

  
  


They go to a little hole in the wall place Yuri remembers. His grandfather lives in the city, and he grew up here, so he drags Viktor to a tiny deli like place and forces him to spend a ridiculous amount of money on pelmeni. Yura sits across from him scarfing it down, completely obliterating any diet Yakov has him on. To be fair, Viktor thinks, he’s fifteen and starving. 

Viktor leans his chin on his hand and picks at his own dumplings. “How’s Lilia?” he asks. 

Yura shrugs. “She’s good,” he mumbles around a mouthful of food. “Lots of ballet.” Viktor grimaces. He hated ballet under Lilia. Yuuri is a much better teacher. 

“Looks like it’s working,” Viktor replies. He takes a sip of water and watches the people walk by the little window. Yura finishes his food and shoves the wrapping away. 

“Guess we’ll see when I beat you,” Yuri snarks. Viktor smirks. 

“Sure, Yura,” he teases. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” 

Yuri snarls and tries to rip his hair out.

———————

“Hello?” Viktor answers. He’s still high off his short program, healthy flush across his cheeks and wrapped in his team Russia jacket. 

“Vitya,” Helena says. Viktor’s heart clenches at her voice and he swallows. 

“Helena…” he licks his lips. “What is it? Is something wrong?” 

“It’s Vicchan,” she says. “He got into some buns. We’re at the vet clinic. They don't…” she pauses. “They don’t know if he’ll make it.” 

Viktor’s running before she’s finished, pushing through the other skaters and coaches until he finds Yuuri talking to Yakov. “Yuuri!” he cries, nearly colliding with Georgi in his rush. “Yuuri, it’s Vicchan!”

“ _ Vitya _ !” Helena hisses, but Viktor ignores her. 

“Yuuri, it’s Vicchan,” he pants. Yuuri’s eyes are huge, scared. “Helena said he got into some buns. She’s with him at the clinic--”

“Viktor--”

“You have to go back!” They stare at each other for a long moment, before Yakov pipes up.

“Katsuki, I’ll take care of Vitya.” Yuuri whips around to stare at him. “You need to go.” 

“ _ Yuuri, _ ” Viktor pleads. “Go.” 

“Are you--are you  _ sure? _ ” Yuuri whispers. 

“You’ll--Yuuri if he...you’ll regret it.” Viktor swallows. “Go, it’s okay. I’ll be home soon.” Yuuri hesitates, but nods and draws Viktor into a lingering kiss. 

“Take care of him,” Yuuri says to Yakov. His hands are shaking, and Viktor tries to cover them with his own but his are shaking just as badly. 

“Give me the phone, Vitya,” Yakov commands. Viktor hands it over and Yakov exchanges a few words with Helena, before hanging up. “Book your flight. I trained Viktor for over a decade,” he reminds Yuuri. “He’s fine.” Yuuri nods and pulls Viktor into another hug, arms squeezing him tight. 

“You can do this,” he whispers into Viktor’s jacket. “I love you.” 

“I love you,” Viktor replies. He feels dazed, fuzzy around the edges, but goes back to the hotel room with Yuuri to help him pack and book a flight. 

Sheremetyevo is empty when they run through to departures. Viktor gives Yuuri a long kiss at the gate and he’s off, back to St. Petersburg, taking Viktor’s heart with him. 

———————

It’s not even a two hour flight, but Viktor paces the whole time Yuuri is in the air. As soon as Yuuri lands and texts him, Viktor goes to bed. He lays awake for hours waiting for news, finally falling asleep around two in the morning. 

He’s exhausted the next day, but he skates and skates until any leftover energy is burned off. He vibrates next to Yakov, watches Yura practice with his heart and mind seven hundred and six kilometers away. When it’s his turn, he hugs Yakov, shaking. 

“It’s okay, Vitya,” Yakov grumbles in his ear. It’s comforting, the gruff voice of his former coach. He grips the barrier tight and pushes off, skating to center rink with a halfhearted wave to the crowd and judges. Viktor on Ice has never felt less familiar, and when he starts he knows it will be his worst version yet. 

Regardless, he comes out with third with a place in the Grand Prix Final, and a text on his phone. 

_ yuuri <3:  _ vicchan is ok. they said he’ll make a full recovery. soft food and no buns, and he’ll be right as rain! yuuka, vicchan, and i miss you. we’re all proud of you. come home safe.

Viktor books his return flight, and is on the way to St. Petersburg as soon as the medal ceremony ends. 

He arrives in Pulkovo around midnight, exhausted to the core and dreaming of a hot bath. He wants their dogs, their bed, and Yuuri's warmth. He files out behind a few business people, dragging his carry on behind him and running a hand through his messy hair. There are a few tangles that he and Yuuri will be too tired to work out tonight, but he looks up when he hears a bark. 

Pressed against the glass are two wet dog noses. He stares at Vicchan and Yuukachin grinning up at him, tails wagging in tandem. Immense relief floods through him at Vicchan’s smiling face, and he lifts his head. There, sitting on a bench, looking absolutely exhausted, is Yuuri. He looks up and their eyes meet, and then they’re both running. Viktor brushes past indignant business people, sprinting for the gate without tearing his eyes away from Yuuri. 

He does a little dance while the doors open, and then he’s enveloped in Yuuri’s warmth. “ _ Viktor,”  _ Yuuri breathes. 

“Yuuri,” Viktor replies, hands clenched in Yuuri’s wool coat. There’s a nudge at his leg and Vicchan licks his hand when he lowers it for him. “I...I want you to be my coach until you retire,” he says. 

Yuuri lifts his head and smiles, tired and teary eyed. “That sounds like a marriage proposal,” he laughs. 

Viktor grins, kisses him, hands cupping his soft face and smiling against his mouth as he cries. “Ah, well,” he says. “I was never subtle, was I?” 

———————

It’s late when they get home, most of the lights in the apartment are off. They toe their shoes off at the entrance and stumble in. The dogs immediately go to their corner, curled up around one another. Yuuri presses him against the door gently, eyes soft. 

“I love you,” Yuuri murmurs. “You have no idea how much I love you.” 

“I think I do,” Viktor replies. He dips his head and kisses Yuuri, long and slow. The apartment is quiet, the dogs already asleep. Yuuri grabs his hand and leads him through to the bedroom, where the sheets are rumpled when Yuuri had been too tired to make them. 

They fall into the sheets together, hands searching. Yuuri runs his hands down Viktor’s chest, lifts his sweater and shirt over his head. They laugh quietly when Viktor’s hair gets tangled up, Yuuri gently extracting him. He lays back on the bed, letting Yuuri drink in the sight of him. Yuuri unbuttons Viktor’s jeans, pulls them off along with his underwear. “Beautiful,” Yuuri sighs. “Stunning.” 

“Yours,” Viktor says. Yuuri looks him in the eye and it’s electric. Viktor shivers, rests a hand on his own belly. Yuuri watches him as he stands and undresses, unbuttoning his shirt and trousers, stepping out of them to fall back into bed with Viktor. They come to each other easy, hands and feet, arms and legs. Yuuri gets the lube at some point and begins to open Viktor up until he’s writhing and mewling around Yuuri’s fingers. 

“Mine,” Yuuri says as he rolls a condom over his cock and slicks himself up. Viktor rolls onto his belly and turns his head to the side. Yuuri slots himself between his legs, spreads Viktor’s cheeks with gentle hands and guides himself to Viktor’s hole. The rim stretches around his cock, thick as it is, and Viktor shudders and spreads his thighs more to accommodate Yuuri. Yuuri leans down and bites marks along Viktor’s shoulders as he sinks in. The slide is gorgeous, Viktor’s body welcoming Yuuri in. Yuuri lets out a shaky breath, matched by Viktor’s own shudder at the drag. “You feel so good,” Yuuri praises. Viktor gasps a little as Yuuri bottoms out, balls pressed to Viktor’s ass. “Nothing is as good as you.” Viktor moans into the sheets, hands clenching and unclenching as Yuuri rolls his hips, grinds in in such a way that Viktor’s toes curl and his cock jerks against the bed. 

“ _ Yuuri,”  _ Viktor gasps out. He scrabbles for purchase as Yuuri sets a steady, deep pace. “Yuuri, I...I need to see you,” he moans. Yuuri pulls out, and Viktor despairs, until Yuuri manhandles him onto his back and slides back in. He’s beautiful above Viktor, dark hair and dripping sweat, some kind of deity that Viktor would do anything to pay tribute to for the rest of his life. And yet, he’s the one worshipping Viktor. His hands grip Viktor’s thighs, Viktor digs his nails into Yuuri’s back. They leave marks on each other, say  _ this one’s mine.  _ Yuuri captures Viktor’s mouth in a biting kiss and he  _ grinds,  _ dirty and hard, and Viktor comes all over his belly. Yuuri doesn’t stop, though, fucks Viktor through his orgasm and pins his arms above his head. 

“Beautiful,” Yuuri growls. Viktor throws his head back, but Yuuri cups his head, draws his gaze back to the gorgeous man above him. “Let me know if it’s too much,” Yuuri says. Viktor shakes his head, eyes wide and teary. He’s a mess, face red and hair everywhere.

“Don’t stop,” Viktor pleads. “Please, don’t stop.” Yuuri bends Viktor in half, then, calves bracketing Yuuri’s head as he drives into Viktor. Viktor cries out, fucks down onto Yuuri’s cock. Yuuri keeps Viktor’s arms pinned, cock pistoning in and out as Viktor scrambles to grab onto  _ something.  _ His cock is coming back to life, hardening even though he’s  _ so sensitive.  _ Yuuri hits that  _ spot  _ inside him and he arches, screaming, as Yuuri cries out. “Yuuri, Yuuri,” Viktor chants. “Want you to come,” he begs. “Inside me...inside me, please.” 

“Condom,” Yuuri reminds him, teeth gritted and face flushed. 

“Off, off,” Viktor pleads. “Please, Yuuri, we’re both clean,” he cries. Yuuri huffs and pulls out, stripping off the condom, precum in the bottom, and tossing it towards the trash. Viktor whines, loud, until Yuuri slams back into him. He wraps his legs around Yuuri’s waist, digs his heels into Yuuri’s back to drive him deeper. 

Yuuri grabs him by the hips and lifts him so he’s seated on Yuuri’s lap. Viktor kisses him, open-mouthed and messy, and fucks himself down on Yuuri’s cock. “Want your cum,” Viktor gasps. “Want you to fill me, never let me go.” 

“Never,” Yuuri promises. “Yours, always.” He slams inside, cock striking directly against Viktor’s prostate. Viktor  _ shrieks,  _ head thrown back as he comes again, cock twitching and coating them in another layer of his cum. Viktor clenches tight around Yuuri’s cock and Yuuri shouts, presses him back into the sheets, and comes. 

Yuuri shakes and shakes, thighs trembling, face buried in Viktor’s shoulder. Viktor can feel his cock throb inside him, imagines the inside of him painted white with Yuuri, filled to the brim. Viktor pants, flopping back into the blankets, limbs jelly. Yuuri goes to pull out but Viktor traps him there with his legs. “Stay,” he whispers. Yuuri blinks at him, dazed, but nods, and kisses Viktor. 

“You like it?” he asks, blush painted across his cheeks. Viktor can’t believe him, how lovely he is. He was just fucking Viktor into another dimension and now he’s embarrassed by his cock softening inside Viktor, plugging him full of Yuuri’s cum. 

“So much,” Viktor says. His voice is hoarse, which he loves. Yuuri drops sleepy kisses along his shoulders, the freckles there that Yuuri has said he loves. Viktor feels so warm, so adored. He flops an arm over Yuuri’s shoulders and holds him close.

“We should shower,” Yuuri murmurs, eventually. Viktor whines, but imagines Yuuri’s cock is probably sensitive, and he feels grimy from the plane. “Come on,” Yuuri pats his thigh and sits up, drawing out slowly. Viktor nearly hardens again from the wet feeling of Yuuri’s cum running down his leg, but he’s tired enough to let it go for now. They’ll do this again another time, when they aren’t exhausted. 

Together, they shower and crawl back into bed together. Viktor’s hair is wet, and he’ll regret not drying it in the morning, but they open their door to let the dogs back in, crawl under the covers, and burrow into one another. 

For how painful the past twenty four hours have been, it was worth it if Viktor can have this for the rest of his life. 

———————

_ Stammi Vicino  _ comes as an afterthought. Viktor is whining about his exhibition program being boring, and Yuuri suddenly has the bright idea to change it to the free skate that brought Yuuri to Viktor. The duet is an even better surprise, and soon the pair skate coach, Katerina, is helping them learn lifts. 

Yuuri feels both weightless and heavy in Viktor’s arms when he lifts him. He’s so present, so  _ there,  _ that Viktor doesn’t know how he went his whole life not holding him. It’s beautiful, the tangle of their fingers and legs, the wind blowing through Yuuri’s hair. They laugh when they tumble together, and kiss when Yuuri’s back arches  _ just so.  _ It’s the best thing Viktor has ever done, and in another life he wonders if they would have been champion pair skaters. 

Katerina nods at them, claps her hands, and has them try again. 

———————

Yuuri is passed the hell out when Viktor is swimming around the rooftop pool in Barcelona with Chris. 

“I want to marry him,” Viktor tells his best friend. Chris grins in that easy way of his and takes a picture of Viktor floating on top of the cold water. 

“Will I be your best man?” he asks, eyebrow raised. 

Viktor scoffs. “Of course you will. Who else would I ask?”

“Yakov should walk you down the aisle,” Chris says. “I’d kill to see that.” 

“I think Yakov would kill  _ me.  _ But I’ll ask him.” 

Together, they head back down to Viktor and Yuuri’s room where Viktor drenches Yuuri and Chris makes coffee. Chris eventually heads back to his room, and Yuuri tosses Viktor into a hot shower with him. “You and Chris are menances,” Yuuri gripes as he scrubs shampoo through Viktor’s hair. “You have so much hair,” Yuuri comments. 

“Should I cut it?” Viktor asks. Yuuri startles. 

“That’s not what I meant!” Viktor grins.

“I know, but I’ve been thinking about it.” Yuuri’s hands pause in his washing. 

“Do you want me to cut it?” 

“When?” Viktor asks, looking back at Yuuri. 

“Whenever you want,” Yuuri replies. 

“Now?” 

Yuuri bites his lip. “If you’d like.” 

Viktor spins and grabs his hips. “Oh  _ Yuuri.  _ It’d be a lovely surprise, wouldn’t it?” 

Viktor sits in front of the bathroom mirror while Yuuri searches for scissors. He fingers the long, wet hair and imagines it short. He thinks a nice bang over one eye, short on the sides, might be nice. “Do you know how to cut hair, sweetheart?” he calls. Yuuri is on the phone, finishes his conversation and hangs back up. He comes back into the bathroom. 

“I cut my own,” Yuuri says. “I just asked if they could bring up some scissors.” 

“Will they?” Yuuri hums in confirmation. He stands behind Viktor and runs his fingers through the long strands. “Can I braid it one more time?” 

Viktor nods and Yuuri sets to work, hands deft as he works. A knock comes at the door and he pauses, draping the braid over Viktor’s shoulder and going to retrieve the scissors. When he comes back, he finishes the braid. “Are you sure?” Yuuri asks, placing a gentle hand on Viktor’s shoulder. When he nods, Yuuri nods back. “Alright.” 

Viktor explains what he wants and Yuuri takes the scissors. Viktor closes his eyes, takes a breath, and hears the first  _ snip.  _

Within a few moments, Yuuri is handing him the braid. It’s heavy in his hands, and his head feels ten times lighter. “Oh,” he murmurs. 

“Okay?” Yuuri asks. Viktor nods, smiling down at the braid, and Yuuri sets to work styling it. When he’s done, Viktor leans forward in the mirror and plays with the bangs he now has. Yuuri takes his blow dryer and blows the leftover hairs off his shoulders. “What do you think?” 

“I think I look hot,” Viktor breathes. He runs his fingers through the short strands, turns his head this way and that. 

Yuuri meets his eyes in the mirror. “I think you do, too.” 

They fall into bed a few minutes later, stripping off the few clothes they had put on. Yuuri’s hands find Viktor’s hair, and they don’t fall asleep for another hour.

———————

Practice goes well the next day, and Viktor drags Yuuri out of the arena to walk around Barcelona. For all that he’s traveled, he has rarely ever been able to actually tour the places he goes. Viktor drags Yuuri through different shops,  _ oohing _ and  _ aahing _ over shirts and suits, ties and cufflinks. Yuuri buys him a lovely pink tie, the color almost matching his exhibition outfit. Viktor makes Yuuri get himself a navy one to match his own outfit. 

They sink onto a bench outside Casa Milà, Viktor’s feet tired from skating and walking. “It’s beautiful here,” Yuuri murmurs. He tucks himself against Viktor’s side, a warm weight that Viktor can lean on. 

“It is,” Viktor agrees. They sit for a while, enjoying each other's company, before they head off for another storefront. 

Viktor only notices belatedly the bag of nuts he bought as a gift for Helena is gone. It turns into a small, petty argument that leaves them both sore, but Viktor laces his fingers with Yuuri’s and leads him into the Christmas market. “I’ll find her something here,” he explains to Yuuri, who nods and smiles at him around his cup of hot wine. The twinkling lights bounce off his hair, cast him in a warm glow and Viktor wishes he could capture this moment exactly as it is. Yuuri’s eyes, bright with alcohol and joy, his soft, navy sweater and wool coat, scarf wrapped around his neck and gloves hands cupping his drink. He’s the most beautiful thing in the world, Viktor thinks, and Viktor wants him forever. When Yuuri is distracted by a stand of scarves, he makes his escape to the nearby jewelry store. 

Inside, polished rings sit on display. He glances back at Yuuri, making eye contact and giving him a small wave, before slipping into the shop. The shopkeeper smiles at him kindly and they exchange a few words about what he’s looking for. Something gold, simple, winter theme? She offers snowflakes, and the dent in his bank account is well worth it as he slips the small box into his pocket. Outside the window, Yuuri is waiting with a wide, confused gaze. 

“Come with me,” Viktor says, offering his hand. Yuuri trusts him and takes it. 

It’s a good luck charm, it’s a marriage proposal. 

———————

Viktor’s chest is tight with nerves as he stands rinkside ahead of the final six minute practice before the short program. Chris is leaning next to him talking to his coach, Josef, and Yuuri is a few feet away speaking with Phichit and Celestino. He stares out at the ice, imagining himself spinning on it in a few short moments. He’s up first, and he can’t help but be terrified. 

Someone comes up beside him and lets out a huff. He turns to see Yura standing there, elbows braced on the boards. “What are you sulking for?” Yuri grumbles. 

“I’m not sulking,” Viktor replies petulantly. He huffs. “Fine, maybe I am.” Yuri snorts and shakes his head.    
  


“What the fuck happened to your hair, then?” 

“I cut it,” Viktor sniffs, tossing his bangs out of his face. “What? You don’t like it, Yura?” Yuri rolls his eyes. 

“Doesn’t matter to me,” he snarks. “I’ll still be the one with gold.” 

Viktor wraps an arm around the younger boy’s shoulders and squeezes him, Yuri squawking indignantly. “Aw, Yura, it’s so cute that you think that!” 

“Vitya,” Yakov sighs. “Let him go before he kills you.” Viktor rolls his eyes but releases him, Yuri growling and straightening his jacket. Yuuri has wandered over, wrapping an arm around Viktor’s waist. 

“All good?” Yuuri murmurs. Viktor hums noncommittally, rubs his thumb over his ring. “You’re nervous,” Yuuri says. “It’s okay to be nervous, Vitya.” Viktor smiles down at him. 

“I know, love.” He squeezes Yuuri close. “It’s the Final, though.” 

“It is,” Yuuri agrees. The skaters are called out then, their names announced one by one as they take to the ice. Viktor hands Yuuri his jacket, revealing his  _ Eros  _ outfit of black and red flames, shining crystals. He sticks to the outer edges of the rink as Phichit and Otabek practice their jumps, before he and Chris join in. Yura glares daggers at JJ, who looks like he’s trying not to shake apart. 

Their six minutes are over before they’ve begun, it seems, and Viktor is left at the boards with Yuuri, who grips his hands and presses their foreheads together. “I love you,” Yuuri whispers into the space between them. “I believe in you. Go out there and show me the skating you like best.” Viktor takes a shuddering breath and nods. He pushes off the boards and waves to the crowd and the judges. His costume hugs him in all the best ways, designed just for this routine by Yuuri. He sees Yuuri bring a hand up to kiss his ring, and Viktor mirrors him out on the ice. 

He cocks his hip, and the guitars begin. 

———————

Fourth place isn’t bad. It  _ isn’t.  _ But Viktor can’t stop telling himself that he’s fucked it all up, that Yuuri is watching the other skaters because he wishes it was  _ him  _ out on the ice. That Yuuri wishes he hadn’t taken Viktor’s stupid, drunk offer, and moved all the way to St. Petersburg for someone like Viktor. Viktor, the nobody from Russia who can’t even land the quad flip he had been consistently landing in practice. Viktor, who is clingy and stupid, air-headed and desperate. Viktor, who throws himself at his attractive coach the second he gets a chance. 

He’s  _ pathetic,  _ he tells himself as the shower runs in their hotel room hours after the short program has ended. Yuuri has  _ asked him  _ not to do this, but how could he not? How could he keep Yuuri here when Yuuri so clearly should be free of Viktor? It’s terrible, and it poisons his every thought until the shower shuts off and all that’s left is numb acceptance. 

He needs to set Yuuri free, otherwise he’s just like everyone else who's always tried to use him, who’s tried to keep him locked away. He takes a shuddering breath and clenches his fists on his thighs. The door opens, and Yuuri enters the room with a soft towel wrapped around his trim waist, hair dripping onto his shoulders. He’s not wearing his glasses, the steam pouring out behind him would have fogged them. God, Viktor  _ knows him. Proposed to him.  _ And yet, how can he keep Yuuri here when he deserves so much better than Viktor, fourth place? 

“You wanted to talk?” Yuuri asks, sitting down across from Viktor and toweling his hair dry, soft smile on his face. He looks relaxed. 

“Yeah I…” Viktor takes a breath and stares down at his lap. He can’t look Yuuri in the eye, not if he wants to get through this. 

Yuuri frowns and shifts closer. “Vitya?” 

“After the Grand Prix Final,” Viktor swallows. “Let’s end this, okay?” 

“No,” Yuuri says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“N...no?” Viktor repeats, mind whirring. What does he mean ‘no’?

Yuuri grabs his glasses and places them on his nose. “We’ve already talked about this, Vitya,” Yuuri says. “I don’t want to skate if it isn’t with you. I  _ love you,  _ Viktor.” Yuuri seems so calm, but Viktor can see the slight shake of his hands, hear the hitch of his breath. “I’m not going back if you aren’t there with me.” 

“What if...what if you weren’t my coach? What if I went back to Yakov and...and you could…” 

“I could what? Go back to Celestino?” 

“I…” 

Yuuri sits on the bed beside him and takes his hand. “I know you’ve been scared, Vitya,” Yuuri says. “I saw you watching me today. Look, if I wanted to go back, and I don’t even  _ know  _ if I do, I already talked to Yakov about it. He would take me on if I did, so I could keep coaching you and compete simultaneously.” 

Viktor blinks. “What?” 

“I’ve thought about it,” Yuuri admits. “After you first mentioned it. I don’t know what my plan is, but whatever I decide, you’re  _ there  _ with me. Do you understand? I want you in my life, Viktor.” 

“You…you do?” 

“Of course,” Yuuri sighs. He reaches up to brush Viktor’s bangs away from his face, and Viktor startles a bit when Yuuri wipes a tear from Viktor’s eye. He hadn’t even known he had been crying. “You proposed to me. That means forever, doesn’t it?” 

“Yes,” Viktor breathes. “Yes, forever. If you’ll have me.” 

“Of course I will, Vitya.” Yuuri draws him into a kiss. “Of course I’ll have you. And you’ll have me?” 

“ _ Yes,”  _ Viktor whispers. “Yes, always.” 

“Then believe me when I tell you that you are what I want.” 

“I will...I...I do,” Viktor says. Yuuri kisses him again, and he melts. The steam from the bathroom is dissipating and Yuuri has goosebumps on his skin. Viktor runs his hand down Yuuri’s arm to grasp his hand, tangle their fingers together, and holds onto him. If Yuuri wants forever with him, who is Viktor to deny him, when it’s he who wants the same thing?

———————

Viktor feels rubbed raw, like an exposed nerve when he steps onto the ice for the free skate. Yuuri pulls him into a tight hug, gripping him like it’s the last time. When he lets go and cups Viktor’s face, he knows it isn’t. 

Viktor on Ice has been a program Viktor has had to come into throughout the whole season. It encompasses his failure at the Grand Prix Final, Yuuri’s arrival on his doorstep. The easy way Yuuri slotted himself into Viktor’s life, him and Vicchan carving a space for themselves in Viktor’s heart in such a way that if they ever left, it might kill him. Viktor’s closeness with Yakov and Yura, Mila and Georgi, the family he’s gained because Yuuri came to Russia. 

Viktor arches into the Ina Bauer, the one he’s always dreamed of since he first saw Yuuri on television all those years ago. The music speeds up again, and the quad flip is beautiful, perfect, when he lands it his heart sings. Viktor wonders what Yuuri’s face looks like, if he’s crying like Viktor is. Beautiful, ugly tears that run down his cheeks and make Viktor want to curl around him forever. 

The slow end, reaching out towards Yuuri. Yuuri, who always reaches back. 

Viktor screams his victory, falling onto the ice and holding his head in his hands, shoulders shaking. He finally struggles to his feet to bow, face wet and hair a mess. The kiss and cry is waiting, and with it, Yuuri. He skates to the boards, and steps into his fiancé’s waiting arms. 

———————

_ “Gold medalist from Russia, Viktor Nikiforov, skating Stay Close to Me.”  _

It’s lonely on the ice without Yuuri in his arms, but the world falls away when the light purples and Yuuri joins him, hand outstretched. Their rings glint in the light, and they dance. 

———————

Yuuri ultimately decides retirement looks good on him, and he stays on as Viktor’s coach. After the season ends, they travel to Japan to meet Yuuri’s family. The plane ride is long, and Viktor sleeps most of the time, face mask pulled up as he snores softly against Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri is also knocked out, head leaning back, throat exposed. 

When they touch down in Fukuoka, it’s late at night. Viktor has to practically drag Yuuri through the airport, tired as he is, until they can hail a cab to the train station. “Wait,” Yuuri slurs, slapping Viktor’s arm lightly until he stops. Viktor has gotten through jet lag in the past through sheer determination, and Yuuri is interrupting his flow. Yuuri points at an old, red pickup idling in the arrivals lane. A woman who looks surprisingly like Yuuri waves at them. “My sister’s here,” Yuuri says pointlessly. He leads them over to the truck, where the woman unlocks the door. 

“Mari,” Yuuri yawns, waving his hand at them, “Meet Viktor. Viktor, this is my sister, Mari.” 

Mari smiles and leans over to shake Viktor’s hand. “Nice to meet you,” she says, with a light accent. It reminds him of Yuuri, and he is thoroughly charmed. 

“You too,” Viktor replies, climbing into the truck after Yuuri, who practically falls face first into the seat. He giggles and shares a look with Mari, who rolls her eyes but smiles. The truck smells faintly of cigarettes and sulfur, minerals from the hot springs that Yuuri has promised him he’ll love. The drive back to Hasetsu is an hour, and Yuuri sleeps on Viktor the whole time. The radio is playing quietly, some news channel that Viktor can’t parse. He’s learned some Japanese from Yuuri, but not enough to understand what the broadcasters are discussing. 

“We were really excited when Yuuri told us about you,” Mari says after a few minutes of quiet driving. 

“Oh?” Viktor asks. “I was happy to hear about you, too.” Mari smiles at that and makes a turn. 

“Yuuri’s never been one for relationships, so when he told us he found someone he thought he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, we were pretty surprised.” Viktor blushes, pleased. 

“He makes me really happy,” Viktor murmurs. 

Mari hums. “Good,” she says. “You make him happy, too.” 

By the time they’re back at the onsen, Viktor and Yuuri are too tired to do much more than pass out. Mari shows them to the larger room they set aside for Viktor, and the two of them crawl into bed without much more than a quick goodnight to Mari. Yuuri’s parents are already asleep, and through Viktor’s exhaustion, he can feel the excitement and nerves creeping in. Before they can take over, he’s fast asleep in Yuuri’s arms. 

In the morning, Yuuri is still asleep. Viktor’s bladder is protesting, though, so he rolls out from under his gorgeous future husband, whose hair is flat on one side and sticking up on the other side, and who is drooling onto their shared pillow. Viktor finds the bathroom easily, and after he finishes, he pokes his head in the room down the hall from theirs. The door is closed, but he knows the kanji letters of Yuuri’s name by heart. He runs his fingers over the tiny, handmade name plate stuck to the door, and slides it open. He steps inside and takes it in. 

Yuuri’s room is like a time capsule of his teenage and childhood years. The twin bed is all well-loved, old and worn wood frame, peeling stickers pasted to the sides of it. There are posters of various skaters littering the walls, and even one of Viktor from two years ago stuck to the ceiling. There’s an old desk, pens and notebooks scattered around, a wardrobe full of old clothes. Some of their luggage is piled in here, Viktor recognizing his magenta luggage, and Yuuri’s navy. Viktor runs a hand along the walls, imagining a young Yuuri laying in bed listening to music, thinking up brilliant programs with his brilliant mind. The door slides open behind him and a pair of familiar arms encircle his waist, pulling him back into a familiar body. 

“Vitya,” Yuuri breathes against his neck. His hair tickles Viktor’s chin, soft and wispy from sleep. Viktor turns in his arms to press a kiss to the top of Yuuri’s head. 

“Morning, love,” Viktor says. “Your room is lovely.” 

“Mmm,” Yuuri hums. “I got the poster of you after last year’s GPF. I couldn’t get you out of my head.” Viktor blushes and presses his face into Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri takes his hand and leads him over to the bed. The frame creaks under them as they arrange themselves comfortably, squished together in the close space. 

Viktor draws Yuuri into a languid kiss, mouth opening under Yuuri’s tongue. Viktor crawls up onto his knees and tugs his shirt over his head, dropping it on the floor beside an old set of skate guards. Yuuri watches him the whole while, gaze dragging down his body as Viktor runs a hand over the waistband of his sleep pants. “Yuuri,” he purrs. “My eyes are up here.” Yuuri blushes but grabs Viktor’s waist, pulling him down so he’s sitting on the growing bulge in Yuuri’s pants. 

“I know that,” Yuuri replies. He strokes a hand up Viktor’s chest to take a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it as it hardens. Viktor bites his lip and rocks down onto Yuuri’s cock. 

“Are you going to fuck me in your childhood bedroom, Yuuri?” Viktor asks, eyes bright. 

“No,” Yuuri hums. “ _ You’re  _ going to fuck  _ me  _ in my childhood bedroom.” Viktor pauses for a moment, eyes wide, before he scrambles to get Yuuri’s shirt and pants off. “Vitya,” Yuuri laughs, moaning when Viktor bites a mark onto his neck. 

The rest of their clothes end up in piles on the floor. Their cocks brush together, lighting Viktor on fire as he leans down to kiss Yuuri. His lips are swollen red, shiny with spit and Viktor can’t get a handle on himself for a second to ask where the lube is. Thankfully, Yuuri is a perfect angel who knows exactly what he’s looking for, and hands it to him without him even asking. 

Viktor slicks up his fingers and nudges his way through Yuuri’s fantastic thighs. As he circles Yuuri’s rim with a finger, Viktor dips his head down to mouth at the wet, leaking head of Yuuri’s cock. Like everything else about Yuuri, Viktor can’t get enough. It’s thick, the right side of heavy in his mouth when he takes the full width in. Yuuri chokes slightly as Viktor pushes a finger in alongside a particularly hearty suck, tonguing the vein underneath. Yuuri’s cock twitches, his hips jerking slightly. Viktor uses his free hand to pin Yuuri’s hips down, and pumps the finger inside Yuuri to the rhythm he’s setting with the simultaneous blowjob. The noises Yuuri is making are heavenly, though quiet due to the other people in the onsen. Viktor slides another finger in alongside the first, thrusting in and out as Yuuri gives a few abortive thrusts, chokes out a “ _ Vitya,”  _ and comes right down Viktor’s throat. 

Viktor shudders, rocks his hips against the mattress, but restrains himself when Yuuri begins begging for Viktor to fuck him. He finishes preparing Yuuri after three fingers, struggling to his knees and pouring a healthy amount of lube onto his cock. He fists it, biting his lip around the urge to just fuck into his hand. Instead, he crawls forward to kneel between Yuuri’s spread legs. Yuuri is looking at him through heavy eyes, cock half hard against his hip. “Fuck me, Vitya,” Yuuri says. It sounds like an order, almost, and shivers up Viktor’s spine. He lines himself up and pushes in, the head popping past that first bit of resistance, until he’s sliding in smoothly. Yuuri loves one strong, fluid movement, and Viktor gives him that as he bottoms out. Yuuri’s thighs are shaking and he’s got his legs around Viktor’s hips, forcing him in deeper. 

Steadily, Viktor pulls out and slides back in in one movement, kissing Yuuri to cover the groan that pours from his mouth like liquid gold. Viktor works up to the hard pace Yuuri likes, bed creaking under them as he drives his cock into Yuuri. Yuuri scrambles at his back, digging his nails in and dragging them to leave marks like he knows Viktor loves. Viktor smothers his desperate groaning and growling in Yuuri’s neck, laving his tongue over the bruises he leaves behind. 

He digs his fingers in, gripping Yuuri’s hips tighter until he knows there will be prints. Yuuri loves those, too, loves running his fingers over them. Loves when Viktor fits his hand back around them over his clothes. It’s brutal, the desperation they’re fucking with. 

“Fuck…” Yuuri gasps as Viktor slams past that bundle of nerves, shakes in his grip. “Want you to fuck me from behind,” Yuuri begs. Viktor pulls out and flips him around, pulls his hips back and slides back in. It’s fast and dirty from there, Yuuri fucking back onto Viktor’s cock to meet his every thrust. Viktor grabs a handful of his ass, gripping it hard as he fucks in, watching his cock disappear inside Yuuri’s body. The rim flexes around the width of him, like Yuuri’s trying to suck him in. It’s skin on skin and bruises, nail marks as Viktor fucks into Yuuri with an abandon he only feels when he’s with Yuuri. 

“I’m gonna cum,” Viktor growls into Yuuri’s cheek, where he’s pressed his mouth and covered Yuuri’s body with his own. 

“Do it,” Yuuri begs. “Fill me, now,  _ please.”  _ And Viktor does. His cock pulses and throbs as he grunts into Yuuri’s shoulder blades. He digs his heel into the small of Yuuri’s back, steadying himself as he shakes to pieces. Yuuri whines into the pillows, toes curled, and comes untouched. He’s  _ perfect,  _ Viktor decides for the millionth time as Yuuri cries into the sheets, cock twitching. Viktor gets his hand around it and Yuuri jerks, hard, in his arms, more cum spilling out onto the blankets. It’s fucking beautiful, the way Yuuri arches up into him, shudders and whimpers. 

They collapse, Viktor fully on top of Yuuri in Yuuri’s childhood bedroom. His cock is softening inside Yuuri, but they both have come to enjoy the warm feeling it brings them both. Yuuri sighs, pleased, and stretches languidly under Viktor. 

“Are you ready to meet my parents?” he asks, laughing. Viktor groans into his hair. 

———————

Hiroko and Toshiya Katsuki are amazing, Viktor decides within the first second of meeting them. They’re so clearly proud of Yuuri, displaying all his medals in a large trophy case in the front of the ryokan. They sell a specialty bowl of katsudon called  _ Yuuri’s Katsudon!  _ that Viktor plans to eat at least two of each night. For now, though, they all eat breakfast in the family area of the inn, Yuuri tucked up against his side as his parents and Viktor discuss all things Yuuri in fragmented English. 

In the afternoon, they visit Hasetsu’s Ice Castle, where Viktor meets Yuuko and Takeshi, and their three terrifying children. One of them has a phone case of Yuuri’s  _ Stammi Vicino  _ outfit, and Viktor wonders why they’re allowed phones in the first place. Yuuko shoos them out when Viktor and Yuuri skate for an hour, though she does join them for the last ten minutes to skate figures with Yuuri. Her and Viktor even skate some of Yuuri’s most famous step sequences, giggling between themselves as Yuuri watches, shaking his head. 

Okukawa Minako reminds Viktor of Lilia in most ways, though Lilia doesn’t own a bar. Minako puts them through the paces for a half hour until she deems Yuuri acceptable and Viktor completely hopeless. Yuuri smooths Viktor’s sweaty hair off his face and smiles at him. “You’re perfect to me,” Yuuri tells him, stretching up to kiss his nose. Viktor blushes the whole walk home. 

They still have two weeks left in Hasetsu before they leave for St. Petersburg, but part of Viktor never wants to go. This place, in the single day they’ve been here, has already slotted itself into his heart right next to Yuuri and Vicchan. Hiroko and Toshiya’s warmth, Mari’s cool composure, Yuuko and Takeshi and their children, all the love this town has for Yuuri, and how they have extended their love to Viktor. It’s like a dream, one where he has a family that welcomes him home when he steps through the door as if they’ve been waiting their whole lives for him. 

Yuuri has his headphones in, watching an old show he loves, hand clasped with Viktor’s, and Viktor feels his heart swell ten sizes at the soft curve of his nose, the fall of his hair. He wants to lean in and place kisses wherever he can reach. Yuuri turns to smile at him and it’s blinding. Viktor can’t help but lean into his orbit and press their lips together like stars colliding. 

“What was that for?” Yuuri asks, a soft smile on his beautiful lips. Viktor is hopeless. 

“I just love you,” he says. It’s so simple, really, to tell Yuuri all of these things. Their love was a slow wave, crashing over his head until he burns with it. It fills his lungs, bubbles up and out of his mouth. It really is the most natural thing, loving Yuuri. He drowns in it, basks in it. Everything he could possibly want is here, in this little bedroom in a seaside town. Yuuri kisses his cheek, brushes his nose against Viktor’s, and hands him a headphone. 

“Watch with me?” Yuuri asks. Viktor nods, settles against his side, and watches. In a few months, a new season will begin. Autumn and winter will blow in with clouds of snow that cover St. Petersburg like a familiar blanket. Yuuri and Viktor will choreograph programs together that will make Viktor want to skate forever. For now, though, in the heat of summer in Japan, he holds Yuuri's hand and leans his head on his shoulder. For once, they have all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> wow! i hope you all enjoyed? please let me know what you think in the comments! they make me so happy to read <3333 also, if you'd like to talk about viktuuri with me more, my twitter is @veinofgods! love you all <3333 see you next level or next fic!


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